


The Invitation

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 02:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15475278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: Benson doesn't react well to a wedding invitation from Barba.





	The Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this in the Seattle airport during my trip to and from NY this past week. It was always going to be short like this but I wasn't going to post it right away because I wasn't sure I cared for it. HOWEVER, I'm going to take a brief break from fanfiction to write a book (I shouldn't be gone long, though...) and I decided to throw this up as a preemptive consolation. I promise I will finish Vegas Heat 2 and the amnesia fic, and get caught up on requests, after I get a first draft of this new book written.

A group text.

A _group text_. He couldn’t have managed a quick phone call? Or even a private text? She didn’t deserve that much?

_Fucking coward_ , she thought, but she knew that was unfair. She also knew that he really didn’t owe her anything. And wasn’t a good portion of her anger actually directed at herself? For the burst of happy excitement she’d felt when his new number popped up on her screen for, what? The third time in the three months since he’d texted it to her? For the initial disappointment she’d felt when she’d realized that Fin, Carisi, and Rollins were all getting the same message?

And then. When she’d actually read the text, when the words had really settled into her, well…

She shoved those feelings aside, even now. She didn’t want to acknowledge them, not fully. It was easier to cling to the anger, even if she knew it was unfair.

She raised her hand to knock again, but the door was pulled inward. And there he stood, looking surprised and wary but…not unhappy. That trace of _not-unhappiness_ in his green eyes made her want to cry, and she curled her hands into fists, using the bite of her nails into her palms to keep her stupid emotions in check.

“Liv,” he said.

“Barba,” she answered, and she saw his expression tighten—at her tone, perhaps, or just the use of his surname.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside and holding the edge of the door. She wanted to refuse, to tell him that she had no intention of stepping into his hotel room, but that was ridiculous. What in the hell had she come for if she was just going to turn tail and run at the sight of him? She squared her shoulders and walked past him, glancing around the room to avoid looking at him. He closed the door and followed her. Cursing herself for her own cowardice, she forced herself to turn to face him. “I’d ask how you found me, but…” he said, offering a small smile. She shot him a look that made the smile widen, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I didn’t know it was a secret,” she said.

“Of course not,” he answered, and she turned away to begin pacing.

“Are you here alone? When did you get back?” she asked.

“Yes. Last night,” he said, watching her pace the hotel room. She thought he might apologize for not calling, or stopping by, or texting to see if she wanted to have a drink, but that was ridiculous, too. He’d surely been busy. And _not_ alone.

“You didn’t want to have the wedding in Florida?” she asked. Oh, that word— _wedding_ —left a bitter taste on her tongue.

“No,” he said. She heard his hesitation, but she didn’t look at him, choosing instead to stop at the window so she could stare out at the city. Anything to avoid staring at him. She hated how terribly she’d missed the sight of him, and how even now she wanted nothing more than to—“This is her home,” he finally said.

She turned to look at him, after all. “Oh, does that mean you’ll be moving back here?” she asked, and while she tried to keep her tone politely casual, she knew she’d failed miserably.

His brow was knitted as he regarded her. “I always intended to come back here,” he said, and she could hear the caution in his voice.

“Hmm,” she answered, turning back to the window. “I guess I just wasn’t sure,” she said.

He was silent behind her, and for several moments her eyes burned with unshed tears as she stared out at the city. She hadn’t seen him in months, and this was how she was going to spend their brief time together? By being an asshole to him because of her own hurt feelings? What kind of friend was she, anyway?

_He’s the one who left_ , she thought. She swallowed the lump in her throat and raised her chin a notch. Yes, he’d left, but he’d done what was best for himself. As his friend, she should be happy for him or, at the very least, supportive.

She turned toward him again, catching sight of the tux hanging on the closet door for the first time. Her stomach clenched and she shifted her gaze away. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, watching her with a small frown on his forehead. It wasn’t easy, but she met his eyes. And she hated herself for the concern in his. He didn’t need something else to worry about, and here she was, his supposed friend, showing up on one of the most important days of his life only to snark at him.

“I’m sorry for the short notice,” he said. His tone was still one of caution. He was unsure, trying to determine why she was upset. “It was all very sudden.”

“I guess _so_ , you’ve only been gone a few months,” she answered. She was looking at him now, and it hurt. She wanted to touch him; she wanted to pull him into her arms and beg him not to leave her. But he’d already left. He might be standing in front of her, but he was still _gone_ , and she hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to look him in the eyes and know that he wasn’t ever coming back. “I just thought that—” She stopped abruptly, horrified by the words that had almost slipped from her tongue.

_I just thought that when you came back, you would come back to_ me _. That you would be ready to talk about_ us _. How could I have been so wrong?_

“Liv?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

She shook her head and he stopped. “I’m sorry,” she heard herself say. “It really is good to see you, Rafael. I just…I’m just tired, you know.” She waved a hand and managed a smile. “And I came by to tell you that I can’t make it to the wedding.”

He nodded once, searching her face. “I’ll give your regards to my mother, I know she’ll miss seeing you there,” he said. The not-unhappiness was gone, and it was her fault.

He deserved to be happy more than anyone she knew. “I’ll send a gift as soon as I can, just let me know the address…” He was frowning again. “Have you found a new place in the city, yet?” she asked. She tried to tell herself that once he was back in New York to stay, they could still be friends. She wanted to believe that she was a big enough person to put her own jealousies aside for the sake of their friendship.

“No, I thought we’d—” He stopped, frowning at her. “Is there something you’d like to say to me?” he finally asked.

She was taken aback by the question, although she knew she shouldn’t be. He’d known she was upset since the moment he opened the door. He just wasn’t sure why, and she suddenly realized that _that_ was what hurt the most. His confusion. He’d had no reason to expect her to show up full of jealous anger and pain, because he hadn’t realized she’d been stupidly believing they had a future together. His confusion made her feel like an idiot.

She crossed her arms. “I did think maybe you’d send me a private text, at least, or make a quick phone call,” she heard herself admit.

“Things have been a little hectic,” he answered, staring at her. “I thought it would be most expedient to just send the—I _did_ think we’d have a chance to talk at the wedding,” he said, and now he sounded defensive. Perhaps even edging toward anger.

“Right, sorry,” she said. “If I’d had a little notice, I could’ve—I know, it was spur-of-the-moment.” She held up a hand to forestall his interruption. “And you don’t owe me anything,” she added. She saw his expression harden. The change happened quickly. “I’m just explaining why I can’t make it.”

“You tracked me down and showed up at my hotel door to tell me you couldn’t make it,” he said. He was glaring at her, now. “That’s it? You have nothing else to say to me?”

Her temper flared in response to his sudden hostility, even though she knew she deserved it. “Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe why you came in here like—” He stopped himself again. He ran his tongue between his teeth and upper lip, taking a moment to rein in his anger. “Maybe just tell me what’s bothering you,” he said, quieter.

She didn’t mean to say it, but the words slipped out: “The fact that you don’t know is part of the problem.” Her eyes and nose were burning, and she ground her teeth together to keep the tears at bay. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it. She never should have come to his room like this. “You deserve to be happy,” she added, and she meant that, too. “I shouldn’t have come here like this, I…don’t know what I was thinking,” she admitted, putting a slightly-shaky hand to her forehead.

“Jesus, _Lieutenant_ , I’m not a mind-reader,” he said, making her rank sound like an accusation. “You haven’t responded to any of the group texts—”

“I muted them.”

He blinked, staring at her. “You _muted them_ ,” he repeated. “Because you were annoyed that I didn’t send you an individual text? I never knew you to be so petty,” he said. His eyes were flashing, now, his anger undeniable. But the anger was a front; there was something else behind it, a sort of hurt confusion, and she hated herself for that.

“I knew Carisi would be asking a bunch of questions—” She lowered her hand and sighed. “And I didn’t want to know the answers,” she admitted. “I’m so sorry, I’m a terrible friend,” she said. Her lips were numb, but her eyes were dry. She didn’t deserve to cry. This was her fault, not his. He’d never made her any promises, and he wasn’t responsible for her flawed inference.

She was going to lose him forever if she didn’t make this right. Yes, it would hurt seeing him build a life with someone else, but she would be happy for him in spite of her own pain. And having him as a friend, even if their friendship would never be as it was before, was infinitely better than not having him in her life.

“Can we just forget I was ever here?” she asked, managing a smile. “I really am happy for you, Rafa. I shouldn’t have come in here like this, I didn’t know I was going to react so badly to seeing you again.”

“I’ve been doing the best I could,” he told her, and she knew how painful it must be for him to say those words. “I thought…you understood…”

_So did I_ , she thought with self-loathing. “I do understand,” she said. “You have to do what’s best for you.”

“What are you—”

“I have to go, I’m sorry,” she said, starting for the door.

“ _Go_?” he asked. And then, just like that, his expression slammed shut. “Fine,” he said. His voice was cold, but not laced with anger; she could detect no emotion in his voice or face. He wasn’t about to beg her to stay, or to ask for an explanation, or to apologize when he didn’t know what transgressions had been committed.

“I’ll see you, Rafael,” she said.

“Sure,” he answered, the noncommittal syllable like a knife to her heart.

The selfish part of her—the part that had brought her to his door and ruined his big day with her petty jealousies—wanted to tell him that she loved him. Maybe the words would make a difference. Maybe there was still a chance. Maybe this would be the last time she would ever see him, and the declaration would be nothing more than a goodbye.

But she bit the words back, because she wouldn’t burden him with her heartbreak. She could feel him trailing her as she walked to the door, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him. She couldn’t breathe. In a little while, he would be _married_ , and—

She stepped into the hallway, and he spoke behind her. “You might want to take a peek at those texts,” he said. “On the _off_ chance you jumped to, I don’t know, an erroneous conclusion.”

She turned toward him, but she caught only a glimpse of his clenched jaw as he pushed the door shut with a click that spoke of heartbreaking finality.

 

*       *       *

 

_An erroneous conclusion._

Benson sat in the back of the small church, away from the other guests—friends and family that she didn’t deserve to join—wondering how she’d managed to make such a mess of things.

She looked at the groom, standing near the altar, waiting for his bride, and she couldn’t keep the tears from spilling over her cheeks. When the music started, everyone turned toward the back of the church, rising to their feet, and Benson swiped at her cheeks. She was about to push herself up when, suddenly, he was right beside her pew. She froze, her teary gaze sliding up the length of his tuxedo to his face.

He looked down at her and she saw a myriad of emotions flit across his features in a matter of seconds. He swallowed, hard, at the sight of her tears, and she saw him make an effort to compose himself. He pasted a smile onto his face and turned away from her, leaning to press a kiss to his mother’s cheek as they started down the aisle together. Lucia Barba was holding tightly to her son’s arm, but her eyes were fixed on the man waiting beside the priest, and in a minute Barba would pass his mother’s hand to that of her soon-to-be-husband.

_Sorry for the short notice, and it’s perfectly understandable if you can’t make it, but you’re each cordially invited to the Barba-Espinoza wedding at 5pm today…_

She’d barely even registered the name and address of the church, or anything else after _Barba-Espinoza wedding_. One of the first things that Carisi had asked was why it was Barba-Espinoza instead of Espinoza-Barba, to which Barba had responded that the church would be marked with the latter but he’d put his mother’s name first without thinking about it.

Benson had already muted the conversation, though. She’d gone into an immediate tailspin of her own design.

All she could think of now was the look on his face when he’d opened his hotel room door. That not-unhappiness.

_He was happy to see me_ , she thought, hugging herself as she watched Barba walking his mother down the aisle. _And he had no idea why I was upset_. He’d figured it out by the end, though. He hadn’t explained the misunderstanding, hadn’t corrected her _erroneous conclusion_ , but she supposed she couldn’t blame him. She’d deserved to have the door slammed in her face; at least he’d closed it gently.

There were no bridesmaids or groomsmen; Barba stood beside his mother, and a younger man—late twenties or early thirties—stood beside the groom in a matching tux. Benson could only assume he was Mr. Espinoza’s son, and Barba’s soon-to-be-stepbrother. She wondered how Barba felt about that and cursed herself another dozen times over. If she’d been a decent friend, she’d know how he felt about it and his mother’s wedding in general. He must have feelings about the situation and he’d probably wanted to discuss them with her, his friend.

_I’ll make it up to you if you let me,_ she thought, and Barba glanced toward the back of the church, his gaze meeting hers for a moment. His eyes slid away, but she couldn’t stop herself from watching him. She wondered if he could feel the weight of her eyes on him but she was helpless to look away.

The ceremony was beautiful, and shorter than Benson—thinking Lucia would’ve opted for the traditional catholic readings—expected. Benson had never met the groom, but she had no doubt that he was in love with his bride. Benson couldn’t be happier for Lucia, but the sight of their love only made her gaze return to Barba.

Lucia cried; Barba cried at the sight of his mother’s tears; Benson cried at the sight of his. And when the ceremony was over, after he’d kissed his mother’s cheek and shaken the hand of his new stepfather, once the bride and groom had disappeared in a limo and the guests had all shuffled out of the church—Benson’s squad, as much _Barba’s_ squad, among them—then, finally, Benson found herself facing him, alone in the church. He could’ve avoided her; it would’ve been easy to get in a car and leave, and she wouldn’t have blamed him.

But here they were.

“Why didn’t you tell me I was being stupid?” she asked.

For a moment, his lips quirked in a smile. Then the smile slipped and disappeared. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but I’ve never made that particular one,” he answered quietly. There was no anger flashing in his eyes, now. He was subdued, resigned; unhappy. She stepped toward him, and he regarded her warily.

“This must’ve been weird for you,” she said, with a small gesture toward the church around them. “Hard. You should’ve been able to talk to me, and instead I—”

“I didn’t ask you to listen to my feelings,” he interrupted.

“You shouldn’t have to ask,” she answered quietly. “What you hoped, I think, is that I would show up here, know you were upset and convince you to talk about it.” She saw his throat bob, a silent admission that she’d hit the nail on the head. “That’s what should’ve happened. I’m sorry.”

“How could you think I was getting _married_?” he blurted, seeming unable to keep the words from tearing their way out of his throat. She could hear the rawness—the hurt and confusion, still—in his voice. And then: “How could you think I was getting married and that I’d tell you by inviting you to the wedding in a _group text_?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know what to think anymore, what to believe,” she admitted. “I thought…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter what I thought,” she said.

“Yes,” he answered. “It does. I’ve been working toward—” He broke off and sighed, running a hand over his hair. “You’re the only reason I’ve ever had for coming back here,” he said, the words barely audible, and she felt her heart stumble inside her ribcage. “And now, I feel like…I let my life slip through my fingers. I lost the only thing that really mattered.”

“You can rebuild your life, your career,” she told him. “You can do anything—”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he said, and now there _was_ a spark of anger in his eyes. It was small, gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“I don’t,” she returned. She knew she sounded defensive and, worse, accusatory. “You say I’m the only reason you had to come back? I thought…I was waiting for you,” she said. The admission was painful, embarrassing. But it was necessary. They had to talk about this. “But you never made me any promises, Rafa,” she said quietly. “I had no right to be upset with you for my own stupid assumptions. I showed up at your door half-cocked, fueled by my own self-doubts and…and hurt feelings, and you—you were happy to see me. At first.”

“Happy?” he asked, sounding incredulous. “Of _course_ I was happy—Do you not know how much I—Well, no, why would you, right?” he asked. He turned and started pacing in the aisle, agitated.

“We’re the one thing we’ve never been able to talk about,” she said.

“You mean me,” he shot back, clenching and unclenching his fists as he paced. He glanced at her. “I’ve never been able to talk about it. I just left you…wondering and…and…”

She could see him trying desperately to hide the pain in his face, and she moved forward without thinking. She grabbed his arm, stopping him. “No, not just you,” she said. “Both of us. It’s not easy for either of us. And I don’t need a bunch of words, Barba. I only need one, a yes or a no.”

“Yes,” he said, staring at her.

She couldn’t breathe. “I didn’t ask yet,” she managed, trapped by his gaze. Even now, she was afraid to hope; she supposed that spoke to some flaw within her, some inability to accept the idea that she might deserve the love of a man like Rafael Barba—the most honorable, and honest, person she’d ever known; the best friend she’d ever had; the only man she’d ever loved with all of herself.

“Liv, from almost the moment I met you, it’s felt like you could read my mind. You’ve always seemed to know what I’m thinking, feeling. I’d like to say it made me complacent, but the fact is, I used it. As an excuse to avoid saying the things I was afraid to say. I told myself that you knew, that you understood, and then you showed up at my door, and I didn’t know why you were so upset, and it scared the hell out of me because I could feel you slipping through my fingers and I didn’t know how to…to tighten my grip,” he said, holding his hand up to curl his fingers in demonstration. “And then I figured out what you thought and it _hurt_.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He reached up and covered her hand, on his arm, with his own. He shook his head. The tears shimmering in his eyes matched those in hers. “No, Liv,” he said quietly. “It hurt to know how much I’d failed you, how I’d failed to protect the most important thing in my life—my relationship with you. This is not your fault. It’s mine. So let me say this now, even if it’s too late. I love you, more than I ever thought possible. I love you in every way imaginable. Me, marrying anyone but you? Inconceivable. I had no right to expect you to wait for me—”

She stepped forward and kissed him, and suddenly nothing else mattered. She felt his surprise quickly slide away, and then his arm curved around the back of her neck as he returned her kiss with as much desperation as she was feeling, herself. She clutched at his lapels, pulling his body flush against hers.

She opened her mouth to him, but she felt him hesitate in the moment before he pulled his lips from hers. He tipped his head back just far enough to search her eyes. “If you have time, do you want to come back to my room?” he asked. “We can talk more…privately,” he added, and she suddenly remembered that they were standing in the middle of a church and that anyone might walk inside.

“I haven’t shaved my legs.”

His brow wrinkled as he regarded her. “I…don’t know what that means,” he said. “I mean, I know what it _means_ , but…are you saying…what? That you don’t want to sleep with me? Because I wasn’t suggesting—”

“No,” she said, and her vehemence made him laugh—a startled sound. “I just—I was just warning you,” she said, and he laughed again, this time with more amusement.

“Do you think I care?” he asked. “You could—” He stopped, and she watched his expression change as realization dawned. “You did think I was coming back,” he said. “That we…That you and I—”

“Yes,” she answered, and just like that, his whole face went soft. It made her want to cry, she loved him so much. “Until that text,” she added, with a little shake of her head. She saw that he was about to apologize again, and she raised a finger to his soft lips. “Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen,” she said. She moved her fingers to his tie and let out a breath. “I’ll knock on your door and you can let me in—If you want to,” she added, and he chuckled, his arm tightening around her shoulders. “And we can talk about the fact that your mother got married today, and anything else you want to talk about, and then you can take me to bed and make love to me and when you have to leave, you can look me in the eyes and tell me not to jump to any stupid conclusions while you’re gone.”

He tipped his head. “You want to say the middle part again?” he asked softly.

She smiled. “Watch yourself, Barba,” she said. “You’re in church.”

“I have no chance of hiding these thoughts from God,” he answered, and she laughed, surprised to feel a blush staining her cheeks. “And…I’m not leaving,” he added. “The city, I mean.”

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. She stared at him. “No?” she asked, finally.

He shook his head slowly.

“That’s what you were going to say when I asked if you’d found a new place,” she realized.

“I thought we could talk about…me finding a place close by for now, until…eventually, maybe—”

“Let’s talk about it on the way to your room,” she said, pulling back and reaching for his hand when he withdrew his arm.

“Liv,” he said when she started to turn, and she paused, looking at him. He bent his head forward, pressing his lips close to her ear, and breathed, “I’ve missed you.” His fingers tightened around hers when he felt the shiver pass through her body. “I need you.” He turned his chin, his nose brushing against her cheek, and then his lips were hovering near hers. “And I love you.”

She hadn’t said the words. He wasn’t asking for them, but she wanted to give them to him: “I love you, too,” she answered, and she thought she could feel a weight slipping from both of them. His lips curved as they touched hers. “Let’s go,” she murmured against his mouth, and she felt his smile widen.


End file.
